The Dossier of the Premier
by Densetsu-no-Maguro
Summary: But as of now, you will know and have smelled the first, and the last, of my flowers. [Gumina!POV, Gumina-centric, diary format, AU?, multi-chapter]
1. I

**The Dossier of the Premier**

_'You're my prisoner now- I shall never lose you. If you grew tired of me and left me you'd leave your real self there on the wall!'  
__-Ralph Grancy, Part III, The Moving Finger by Edith Wharton_

I

_March 12, EC 147_

In the bright voice only a ten-year-old like him could muster, my son piped up and eventually persuaded me to concede to Queen Yufina's fervent requests for me to play the violin on yesterday night's ball in the Marlon Royal Palace.

Ten years had passed without me noticing- or maybe it was me being too preoccupied to notice anything else. I gave birth to my son and raised him with as much finesse as I could, and with all the love I could give him. He has his father's hair, but he has my face, and yet, he has the courage of his father in fecklessly reprimanding those who had mocked both him and I.

It was, of course, something that I could never bring myself to do.

But he is all I have of him, and all I have in general.

When you have numerous things in your mind, you don't think of how everything hurts until much, much later, and in this case, it was true of my fingers, my legs and my feet. 'The premier must dance,' and dance she did. As if it wasn't enough that I had already played for the ball itself! Unfortunately, the queen had the delights and the temperaments of a little girl, and I am only a woman of two and thirty with a young son to bring up, and she demands so much of me.

As limited is the human memory, thus the written word can only convey exaggerations or unreliable happenings from only one point of view, and thus, I can safely say that this is my account for the happenings of the world from my point of view. It is limited, but in this way, I can offer my thoughts for either a hefty price, or for free.

But as of now, you will know and have smelled the first of my flowers, and I do beg you for my forgiveness as I will readily admit that as I write in this stormy night with a small fire to warm the dark room, I am humming a rather insipid lullaby to maintain my son's sleep. The thunder doesn't bother his sleep, but the sound of footsteps would shock him awake and make him as vigilant as a watchman in the night, and this boy of mine, much to my everlasting surprise, is my son, and will always be my son.

My boy, my beloved son, my life, my trap, my everything.

King Karchess is delighted with him despite everything; my boy is the brightest among his peers, and he speaks so many languages that he offers to translate everything he touches to me. When he was a boy of three, I played games with him in where I would point at an object or a person (silently, of course) and ask him what is the first word that would come to his head, and he would answer. I still play such games, and now that he is ten, he plays it with me instead, with him as the questioner.

The King of Marlon speaks to me of war; the Beelzenian Empire, in which I have formerly hailed from, is preparing for war against our countries. "In such a case," he had consulted me, "we only have but a naval army, and Elphegort has the famed forest."

"The forest is sacred," I said, in defense of my faith. "They will never win against us."

"And we know the seas better than the fish," Karchess returns, yet I notice that there is no pride in his words.

"They grudge against _you_," I pointed out, as I sipped my wine. "You overthrew Martius Beelzenia, and they grudge against you. I know you have no fear, yet you must think in their position to properly plan."

"And what are your plans, Athalia?" Karchess asked me teasingly.

I remember that I scoffed at the name. "Kill every royal family member," I laughed. "Blight their mansions. Off their descendants. Kill the male heirs."

Karchess repositioned the wine bottle and sighed. "You have had too much to drink, Gumina."

"Yes. I have played and danced; I have made merry tonight, and I am drunk," I dully said. "But the King of Elphegort fears for you, my friend. And I do as well. An alliance is out of the question; you must go to war."

"I have once thought of luring the Beelzenians to sea," Karchess told me, brooding over his wine glass. "But I do not have many generals, and Yufina is worrying."

"It will be too obvious if you are to lure them to sea," I returned. "In which the King of Elphegort has told me that I can recommend you one man to help you overcome this problem."

His face looked surprised, yet I wasn't entirely enthusiastic in who I wanted to introduce. "Who?"

"Chief Commander Beranger Erhart," I answered.

Karchess howls with laughter; he knows of my history with Erhart well. It is well know and well said that a prime minister and a military commander can never get along in a kingdom, and that one will constantly have the upper hand than the other. While I have civil officials under me, and my king to serve, he has the army in his hands, and it is true in word and deed that we have never liked each other one bit.

Reinard, my son, however, sticks to him like stubborn glue.

"Erhart!" Karchess exclaimed. "The good man!"

"Don't you start!" I retorted. "I can hardly stand him."

In which, it is true that I can hardly stand Beranger Erhart in all of his composition- I am barely impressed with his skills with the sword, the bow and arrow and the lance, for he has a mind like mine. We had played chess once; Reinard was with us in the same room, and we were both without help, and instantly, Erhart knocks over one of my pieces and my son, surprised, exclaimed in complete shock before I could even realize anything.

"Mother, it's a checkmate!"

I was the talk of the ministry that day.

But as the King of Elphegort has stationed me in Marlon to await for Erhart's arrival, I patiently wait with my son, until we can discuss more about the war that is to come. The storm is receding- I am certain that my son is very deeply asleep that not even footsteps can wake him now, and I shall end my entry here accordingly, until tomorrow.

Even tomorrow, I will still remember.

_-Gumina Glassred_

* * *

A/N: Maguro is making a fanfiction compilation of alternate universes to this fandom, and I still have no idea where to even start.

For further detail on the fanfiction, this will be a compilation of possible diary entries by Gumina Glassred, after her installation as the Prime Minister of Elphegort. The son in question is her son with Duke Venomania, in which Maguro had named him Reinard Glassred. This will cover a very important event: the Calgaround Issue.

-Nairo


	2. II

**The Dossier of the Premier**

_'Seventeen years ago you said  
__Something that sounded like Good-bye;  
__And everybody thinks that you are dead,  
__But I.'  
__-A Quoi Bon Dire, by Charlotte Mew_

II

_March 14, EC 147_

"Pedantry," Reinard responded, after I pointed at the home minister of Marlon.

We have decided earlier that we would play that game again; only we played for a bit longer as there was nothing more that we could really do except to wait for Elphegort's gallant twit to arrive. Reinard had been excited yesterday after I had told him about what I had spoken to Karchess, and this morning, he could barely find the words that he intended to say for the game, tripping over them instead like the little boy he is. The home minister is a corpulent creature, but only Reinard and I share the inappropriately amusing opinion discreetly. He turned and gave me a bow before going his own way, and both mother and son hold back laughter.

"When is Commander Erhart coming?" my curious ten-year-old asked. I gave a little groan of dismissal and annoyance; the cheeky little thing pretended not to notice his mother's displeasure, and takes pleasure in that.

"In the evening, perhaps after tea," I responded.

Reinard hid his impatience well by settling for a nod of satisfaction, but I raked my fingers through his soft purple hair and I noticed that he had taken extra care to look presentable. Most of the time, he would take great pains to look presentable and clean, but this I know; he intends to spar with the commander and soil his clothes. "And why are you so excited, my boy?" I asked with a grin, just for confirmation.

He grinned back, with all the airs of a village boy. "Well, I want to see you bicker with him over my clothes being stained with the soil!"

Erhart, as true and as irritating it is, tutors my son, without my permission, in swordsmanship and archery. Reinard, being a boy, delights in anything sharp and anything that thrills him half to death that I can't help but let him learn for his own good. He has the mind of a politician who is cornered by a thousand others- he thinks three steps ahead, but he is my boy through and through.

And his.

Reinard knows of his father, and how he looks like, through my paintings. It is against all ethical reasoning to paint the portrait, no, many portraits of the man who had defiled nearly every woman in the continent, yet I find that my brush will only remember the strokes that make up his face. The palette will only hold his colors, and I, the woman who is bold enough to recreate his image again and again, told my son about this man. My son- our son- took a few good looks at the many portraits that would repulse and traumatize almost anyone, and told me this:

_"I should have liked to know him."_

With that, I realized that it is not only me who loved him the way he was, but our son as well. But it was more heartbreaking on my part; how could he say that without having the maturity to properly know? How could he want to know more after seeing such a face?

But my boy is different. My boy's heart is different.

He is brave, unlike me. He is strong, unlike me. Reinard doesn't run away; he faces things, no matter how undesirable, and I wanted nothing more than to reach my hand through the canvases, to touch his father's face, to force my way into the forbidden world and tear it apart and cry out at the top of my lungs.

I don't deserve to have my son.

Erhart arrived before tea, just when I was about to pour tea for the king, and my son came out of nowhere, tackling the knight as I watched with scandalized horror at the fact that anything that represented me, especially my own son, would enthusiastically greet the war commander in such a manner. I still do not see how is it that people are so at ease with Beranger Erhart; I remember Karchess laughing at the energy that my boy had exhibited.

"Good to see you here, yes, Reinard?" Erhart greeted my son, and Reinard grins.

"Good to see you here, sir!"

"As the boy says," Karchess greeted him equally. "But I see that there is one person who doesn't share the same sentiments?"

Of course, they were referring to me.

"I should leave the men alone," I answered snidely. "Having a woman here is quite out of place, isn't it?"

Beranger Erhart is a sharp-faced man, with his ebony-black hair earning him the nickname of 'The Night Commander', in which I am not very impressed. The women flock to him, but he is a man with a vision, and it deters him from any wrongdoing. Probably the reason why I despise such a man is because we share the same court, we share the same mindset, yet we are of different powers. He smiled at me once I had acidly responded, and he bows to the king, then to me.

"But you are far from a woman; you are a minister with a mouth that can order a person's death," Erhart said.

My son laughed at that. "Well, my mother isn't the nicest of women-"

"Behave!" I hastily said.

Despite his heavy title as the future Marquis Glassred, my son is still a young child for all of his learned maturity, and I sometimes forget that I am a mother who still needs to teach her son until he is old enough to make his own decisions. We sat down regardless, and it is the three of us; the King of Marlon, the Prime Minister of Elphegort, and the Chief Commander of Elphegort, being seated at a tea table while thinking about how to defeat the greatest empire in the continent. A troika. A very unlikely troika.

My son left the gardens, and Karchess began.

"As we know, Martius Beelzenia is targeting both Marlon and Elphegort due to these reasons; I had restored Marlon, and Elphegort is helping Marlon in this expedition. I have discussed with Prime Minister Glassred regarding our strengths, yet those aren't enough. What do you think thus far, Commander Erhart?"

Erhart nodded. "Held's Forest and the seas are not enough. How many men do you have, if I may ask, Your Grace?"

Karchess shook his head. "The most I can give without losing out much are ten thousand men."

"Beelzenia has thousands!" I exclaimed, shocked. "Unless we use the geography to our advantage, and unless we can invent modern weaponry-"

"Lady Glassred has a point," Erhart said. "Your Grace, I understand that Marlon is a new country, yet we would need careful planning to carry this out."

We have decided, to cut the long story short, to reluctantly use Marlon as a base of operations. For the duration, I have sent a letter to the King of Elphegort regarding Erhart and I being stationed in Marlon, in which Elphegort would have to use the Forest as a barrier in the event of sudden attacks. To use a sacred forest as a geographical protection is almost like playing with God, but we don't have much of a choice.

As expected, my son returns to me with his clothes stained with the dirt and mud, yet he beams at me proudly at having been a serious fighter. I reprimanded him as usual, but he noticed that I hadn't had the heart to.

"But mother, how are we to lure the Beelzenians to the sea?"

Indeed.

_How_ are we to lure them to sea?

-_Gumina Glassred_

* * *

The diary sinks.

It sinks, still closed, yet it sinks to the depths.

The depths end, and it lands on soft ground- the lap of a man.

...

* * *

He picks it up, and opens it.

* * *

A/N: What do you even write in an author's note?

-Nairo


	3. III

**The Dossier of the Premier**

_"Even losing you (the joking voice, a gesture_  
_I love) I shan't have lied. It's evident the art of_  
_losing's not too hard to master_  
_though it may look like (Write it!) like disaster."_  
_-One Art, by Elizabeth Bishop_

III

_March 15, EC 147_

To clear both of our heads, I had decided to go to the marketplace with Reinard to buy books.

Like all mothers, I constantly had to follow my son whenever he decides to capriciously wander off to anyplace that suits his fancy, but he knew better than to make me run after him often today. When Reinard was four, I remembered that he always wanted to swim in the Meshisu River, yet now that he is ten, he doesn't have an enthusiasm for his little dream- oddly enough, he learned that the river was deep enough to make him drown, and he instantly abhorred it.

He prefers books over people; that much is what I know about his little world. He would rather read about the world in theory than apply it to practical means, no matter how much I tell him that the practical aspects are just as important. We went into Winshard's and got ourselves ready to dust off the books that were abandoned by their previous owners, until my son tugged onto my hand to grab my attention.

And I was surprised to see yet another woman whom I knew.

I was not in good terms with this woman, I remember. In my days back, she, who was uneducated to the point where she seemed a little dense, irritated me to no end with her thoughtless questions, and she was so unimportant that I dismissed her instantly. But to see her today was as if something had changed over the both of us; her in particular. Her teal locks and her dreamy smile was hard to miss, and she had noticed my son and I.

"You have such a cute son!" were her first words.

I laughed; I nodded with pride. "I do, I do. How are you doing, Miss Mikulia?"

Mikulia Greonio- I remember that she was a farmer's daughter. Fancy meeting her there today at Winshard's! But as soon as I greeted her, she looked rather perplexed; I dare not miss that expression that she made, for it was so very peculiar, as if she was surprised at the very question itself.

And what followed next surprised me even more.

"I'm doing well, yes!" she replied.

But I should not be surprised- I must be overthinking, I thought. Surely she doesn't want to remember what happened back then, and I don't blame her. I gave her a small reassuring smile for old times sake.

"Ah...it must be God's intervention, for us to meet here again," I continued on. "But I would like to start anew; I would like for the past to be buried behind us. As of now, I hope that we can be good friends, and that you will not find it hard to come to me for help in the future."

Mikulia's mouth gaped a little, but she nodded enthusiastically right afterwards. "Of course, of course! There is no reason why we shouldn't be friends, yes? But where should I seek you in case I miss you in any way?" she added timidly, in which I remembered that I was not easy to reach.

"You may reach me in the Glassred estate in Elphegort-"

"Oh! You are in Elphegort too? My husband is there! In Merrigod, to be exact!"

"You've married well, I presume?" I asked, completely taken in. Mikulia giggles; it is easy to lose yourself in her giggles, for it seems as if everything is right with the world, and that the things in the world are not so hard as they seem anymore.

"I have, I have! To a certain Earl Gilbert Calgaround," she proudly declared.

I took note of her pride, and I was genuinely glad for her.

We spoke for a little while; I asked of her married life, and she asked about mine, in which I had told her that I had not married yet. She was surprised; indeed, most people are surprised whenever I tell them that no, I am not married, and I certainly do not plan to at the moment, and then she looked at Reinard with a kindly expression.

"You have such a cute son," Mikulia said dreamily. "I wish I had a son. A cute little boy. Or a girl."

"Haven't you tried for one?" I asked, surprised. "Surely you would've-"

"I've tried and tried, but I find that nothing's working...But your son...ah, what a good-looking boy."

And now that I am back in my quarters in Right Palace, I find it very familiar that I got to meet Mikulia again. Married to an earl- she certainly came upon some luck. But her concerns of not being able to conceive worries me; she tries so very hard to want to have a child, yet of course I held my tongue and decided not to tell her: 'You do know, it's sometimes the man?', for I believe she loves her husband so.

But Reinard kept asking questions; he finds the entire encounter odd.

"But why would she act so strangely, as if she doesn't know you, mother?" Reinard asked.

"Probably because what your father did had the same impact on her as it did the rest of the women," I quietly answered.

"Did father have the same impact on you, mother?"

I dared not tell him that at times, I wished that I could be like Pygmalion; that I wished that I could summon him upon painting him, and that he makes my very heart bleed.

_-Gumina Glassred_

* * *

He wonders; what is a book doing here?

But he closes it; that doesn't matter now.

What mattered was surviving, and they both feared death.

And the depths of death were damp, cold, and smelled of rotting flesh.

* * *

A/N: According to the anonymous review that Maguro had told me that no one can ever even reply to an anonymous review (because I don't know the mechanics of this here site), she has expressly stated that:

_'When did I ever say that the man was Cherubim, and when did I ever say that it sank into Hell?'_

No worries bro, she laughed at your review. Stay cool, bro. I can't go any more formal than this bro.

-Nairo


	4. IV

**The Dossier of the Premier**

IV

_Right Palace, Marlon Castle, Bariti, Marlon  
May, EC 147_

The young marquis-to-be, Reinard Glassred, listed his fears one by one quietly.

He notes that he is scared of death; who isn't? He notes that he is scared of drowning- the very thought of drowning in the Meshisu was enough to make him cry (although he was big enough not to cry, mind everyone else who knew him), he notes that he is scared of a sudden crowd, and he notes that he is scared of horrid cooking, in which his fourth fear was realized upon the head cook of Right Palace falling ill. The jolly, overweight woman apologetically frowned upon seeing him that day; she expressly said: _'I'm sorry, young sire, but I'm down with the cold, so I had asked for Lady Glassred to make you your dinner. Best to have homecooked meals from your mother dear, yes?'_

_**No.**_

Anything that she cooked would kill anything.

If he wasn't so hungry, he would do anything to escape dinner, but he wondered what was worse; catching the cook's cold, or eating his mother's inedible food. His mother, Commander Erhart and King Karchess were so caught up with their meetings about war, war, and more war, until he settled for having the company of Marlon's fair queen, Queen Yufina.

"How is it that I'm the only child here?" he asked her out of curiosity. The kind-faced and warm-hearted queen merely laughed to herself; it was in this instance that Reinard didn't like to be ridiculed, but he had to admit that the fact that he was a child to many was a fact that couldn't be broken until he grows taller and older. His mother treated him as a mixture of a boy and a young man, so it was rather hard for him to realize that he is a mere boy to many others.

"Would you like me to bring you playmates?" Queen Yufina smiled.

"I'm not a little boy who wants toys," Reinard said sourly, as he bowed and left the queen to her own devices. He had a letter to expect.

* * *

_To Lord Reinard Glassred,_

_By the time you receive this, I would think that my hawk would have reached the windowsill of your quarters in Right Palace of Marlon Castle. By the time you receive this as well, I hope that no one has read this note, caught my hawk and let it fly free, in which this is incredibly risky for me to write._

_Glassred, though we are constantly at odds, I must tell you that the situation in Beelzenia is far worse than you think. As you would know, Prince Martius Beelzenia is at odds with King Karchess Marlon, but you must also know that the royal family disapproves of his reckless acts in wishing to use the Beelzenian army for war. Princess Maylis Beelzenia is at odds with him, as you know, and with the support of Emperor Jupitaire Beelzenia (yes, he had changed course, for some reason), they withheld the army from Prince Martius._

_Unfortunately, Prince Martius still has the support of Lioness; I presume that he had bribed them. The Beelzenian Royal Family may have forsaken him, but warn your mother, the Prime Minister of Elphegort, of the real danger; the Lioness kingdom. My father had told me to write to you to minimize risks; they will not suspect the daughter of a baron writing to the son of a marchioness in naive thoughts of marriage, but we both know that we are far more than that._

_I cannot write any more; this is the last that I shall write to you for the time being, but I hope that this serves you well. Do not reply, and burn this letter._

_I remain your friend,_  
_Lady Milenille Conchita_

_P.S. I hope we don't see each other again; you simply make my stomach turn._

* * *

Milenille Conchita was two months younger than him.

Even at the age of ten, Milenille thought the world of herself, even after the day that she had learned that she was no different than the other 'demon children' that roamed the continent after their father's untimely and deserving demise at the hands of King Karchess Marlon. The only thing that saved both him and Milenille were their statuses, and even so, at the age of ten, they had to think like adults and grow up rapidly. In an age where everyone seemed to think that children were no more than miniature adults, they were forced to keep up with expectations.

When he was first introduced to Milenille, he pulled her hair, and she kicked his chest.

Reinard would describe Milenille as rather pleasant-looking, kind-hearted, but incredibly shrewish. Baron Toy Conchita had recently sent for an artist to paint her portrait for prospective marriages; Reinard had seen it, and for as much as she tried to look haughty and proud, there was no mistaking that she had a very kind face. Her brown hair had the curls of her mother, the Princess Maylis, and she had the dark purple eyes of their father, Duke Sateriasis Venomania.

He closed his eyes, and remembered the day when they realized that they were related.

The villagers called them 'demon children' in their faces when they were four, and lost, in the streets of Aceid.

They had made a promise, both half-brother and half-sister, to grow in maturity in the mental sense. They wanted to know what people were thinking. They wanted to know the world, early, as early as possible, so as to understand properly what their purpose in the world was. And at the age of six, Reinard knew his true purpose; it was to make the most out of his life, and to honor his deceased father and his living mother for all of his years.

He didn't know what Milenille decided on, but there was one thing that was certain.

They weren't unfortunate children who were targeted by the unaffected.

They were pawns in the world of politics.

So when Reinard caught up with his mother, who was about to retire for the day, he tugged onto her dress so that she would bend down to listen to his whispers. Gumina looked worse for wear due to late nights, but what her son whispered in her ear prompted her to return back into the meeting hall.

At least they all knew where their battleground would be, and at least Lord Held's forest would stay intact.

* * *

_May 25, EC 147_

In these times, I sometimes wish that I was a common woman, and that my son would be an ordinary boy.

But this is not the case, and certainly, this is not what everyone would want. I am a great lady, and Reinard will be a great man. We must wear clothes that are too big for us and make them fit as closely as we can, and when I re-entered the meeting hall to speak yet again to King Karchess and Commander Erhart, I repeated what my son had told me, each and every word.

"So he strikes by allying himself with Lioness," Karchess darkly said. I merely nodded.

"As what Baron Conchita says."

"Baron Conchita is reliable," Karchess said, acknowledging his friendship with his old friend. "And his daughter sent your son a letter to impart the news, instead of him sending a letter himself to us to stave off suspicion?"

"That is correct," I nodded.

Erhart took a deep breath; he too was rather overwhelmed. We were all overwhelmed; hours and hours of thinking where to fight, how to fight, when to order executions and such, and the most obvious political strife suddenly decides to be laid on the table.

Martius Beelzenia and his sister, Maylis Beelzenia, were never on good terms, so it would be natural if Maylis were to disapprove of the war in disdain for Martius. In addition to that, Emperor Jupitaire favored Princess Maylis, so naturally, he would listen to her reasoning even more. And using Lioness's hatred for Marlon, Martius would garner support.

It was as simple as that, and we are in a fix.

"We'll have to make use of the men that we have here, Your Grace," Erhart said, much to our dismay. "I cannot summon my men to the island; it would be instantly noticeable. It would make them strike earlier, and we know that a war takes months to plan."

I wearily sat down on my chair beside King Karchess again. "But ten thousand men against the men of Lioness," I said helplessly.

They both know that it is near impossible, unless we have a man as cunning as a snake in our midst. But I too have my degree of cunning; it is just the fact that I am so tired and weary that I can't even bring myself to think straight that kills it all today.

And as I decide that yes, I shall sleep early tonight, so will I decide to stop writing here.

_-Gumina Glassred_

* * *

A/N: Maguro originally thought that Princess Maylis's illegitimate child was a boy, so she had the name of Milenmort Conchita ready. But she checked the wikia and realized that it was a daughter, so she had the name changed.

Yes, it's May. She's speeding up the time to reach the Calgaround event.

-Nairo


	5. V

**The Dossier of the Premier**

V

_May 29, EC 147_

It's starting to get wearisome, writing in here. Recalling every single thing that happens in a day is quite a challenge; I don't know how people do it. But there is one thing that happened today; Reinard fell ill. The common fever.

I abandoned everything to take care of him for the duration - the apothecary said that I needn't do so; that he is in good hands with an experienced man with tonics and phosphates, but I absolutely won't have it. Some might say that I'm smothering my son (in which I believe that I am, yet I cannot stop!), but he is only ten (in which I would say that he is _turning_ ten, this June). And despite him being only ten, he knows so, so much, yet he bears it with the heart of a man. But when he is ill like a common boy who plays in the rain and walks right indoors without any regard for drying himself off, he becomes the little boy that no one would ever expect him to be.

Reinard's face scrunched up as I gave him a spoonful of medicine, complained about the taste and resigned himself to the bed, in which he complained yet again that it is cold, but I tell him not to slink into the covers as it will only make it worse.

"But, mother," his strained, fluting voice came, "there's still so much to do."

"You have helped me more than enough," I replied. "And you are the darling little boy of the court these few months. King Karchess adores your bravery."

"I'm not a darling little boy," he coughed, and I patted his little back. "I'm your son."

"Maybe when you are eight years older, then I will let you go," I teased, and he laughed with a strained, scratchy voice. Reinard refuses every notion of marriage; he wants to be a learned man in order to be elected as the next Prime Minister of Elphegort, yet his purple hair betrays all notions of being elected, I fear. The Elphes are a very particular people, and it took pains for Reinard to be barely accepted in the community.

"Will Milenille send more letters?" I asked him quietly, in which Reinard shook his head.

"No. Baron Conchita had said that this will be the only letter."

"I see."

In which I still cannot believe that the fallen princess, Milenille, would share the same fate as my boy; they are agents for their guardians' and parents' causes. They are so young, yet they know so much, but they decide that they would be of use to us adults, as expected of them. It was strange to others that neither Baron Conchita nor I suggested that they be engaged, but we knew better, and the children?

I'm not sure whether they know that they're related. They've seen each other so little, and they bicker so. Baron Conchita and I were aghast upon them disliking each other on sight, and when they resorted to physical violence, we had to restrain them.

In the middle of my thoughts, Erhart politely let himself in, prompting a small, strained laugh from my boy. Reinard gave a weak salute, and before I could say anything, the commander ruffled his damp hair and looked so severe that I almost thought that my boy would be reprimanded.

"You've got it bad, haven't you, little lord?" Erhart asked, with as much concern as a - forgive me - father.

"Terribly so, but nothing that I can't fight off, sir," Reinard nodded.

"He's ill," I plainly said, as if I was an angry matron trying to withhold her anger. "The fever."

Erhart nodded as if he didn't heed my warning tones. Instead, he took the damp towel from my hands and soaked it into the water before placing it on the forehead of my boy, and Reinard bit his lip at the sudden coolness. I closed the windows so that the late spring wind wouldn't enter, and the faint babyish snores filled the room, showing that my boy was now sound asleep, cradled in the arms of the sandman himself.

"If there is one thing that I admire about you, it's that you try your best for your son," Erhart suddenly said, in which I turned around in surprise. I didn't let it stay on my face for long, however. I wouldn't give him the satisfaction.

"He's all that I have. If you had a son, you'd do the same."

"No," Erhart said, daring to contradict me. "You don't take care of him as you would groom an heir. You think the world of him. You would give him the sun and the moon and the stars if you could; it is something that most women of the incident dare not bring themselves to do."

Of course I would. I would give him more than the sun, the moon and the stars. I would give him the entirety of heaven if I could.

"I lay my treasures at his feet," I admitted slowly.

Erhart suddenly smiles - it is a warm smile, and I was considerably taken aback. "And he lays his at yours. And you were fortunate enough to give birth to a boy; I know how much you wanted one, for it would've been harder if you had a girl."

"Look here," I retorted, "what came upon you to suddenly be so concerned over me all of a sudden?" As if he had forgotten that I had once framed him for treason.

Then he said something very surprising.

"You don't have to kill yourself, Glassred."

Admittedly, I've never thought of myself that way. It was only when he spoke that I realized; I had prayed to Held for a boy, for if I had given birth to a girl, I would've loved her all the same, but a worse fate may befall the poor little thing. I rose to the ranks to avoid all possible persecution. I hardened my heart and framed Erhart for rebelling against the King of Elphegort solely to make sure that I seemed capable, to make sure that he was out of the equation, and we had a very fierce and bloody feud over it all on the year 145.

And like a woman who refused to lose, I icily replied, "I am not killing myself for anything. I merely did my duties, as I am expected to. And you should do the same."

Erhart frowned, as if he wanted nothing more to merely reason with me. "Glassred, I-"

But I gave him no room to talk.

"You cannot tell me what to do," I retorted, hissing like an angry cat that got splashed with water. "_You_, of all people, cannot tell _me_ what to do._ I_ tell _you_ what to do instead; if you cannot accept that, then you'd best keep quiet. You think that I am forced to care for my son? No! You don't know me, you don't know why I do the things that I do, and if you think you can read me, you'd best get out of the room right now."

Silence.

We stared at each other; I, with the passion and hatred of a shrew, and he, with the astonished, bruised pride of a man.

"...I'm sorry," he said. I wasn't sure what he meant; he could either be sorry for what he said, or he could be sorry for me.

"Leave," I hissed.

And right after he left, I thought of the only man who knew me by heart, and I swore to myself that he would remain the only one who could ever understand me.

_-Gumina Glassred_

* * *

A/N: I just woke up and this is short.

-Nairo


	6. VI

**The Dossier of the Premier**

VI

_June 11, EC 147_

I see him everywhere.

I see him everywhere I go. I see him in my dreams. I can even dare say that I feel him!

I am still in Right Palace; my paintings are in Aceid, yet I paint him. I paint his face, his face upon his face! I paint and paint while our son is recovering, yet I am in this room writing and painting without anyone knowing. It is night now, and I try, I try, but in vain, to control myself from shaking.

This is nothing that I've hidden from people; this happened just recently! I swear that I was fine before, that I was always fine, but whenever I see him, whenever I remember him, I shake. I shake so. I am starting to fear that I am going mad, because I absolutely cannot go mad now!

If there is one thing that I hate, it is losing control. I am not one to lose control easily. I know it as well as it is; control and firmness has always flowed in my blood ever since the day I was born. I have never gave way to any ridiculous fancy that was within my control, and I do not plan to give up now. When I say so, it is so. It has always been that way, and everyone who knows me will say the same thing of me.

So even if he stares at me now, I will not give in.

I know I am guilty. I know that I alone have killed him; not by the sword, nor by that knife, but I have killed him. I have killed him ever since that day! He had been dead since that day! I bear the stains of his blood on my hands! But I run. I tell myself that yes, I have killed him, but the past is gone. Ignorance! I have feigned ignorance! All this while, I have feigned ignorance!

The war is coming soon; Martius had already raised the rebels. I cannot give way to my personal emotions now, especially not now. My son is recovering from his fever, and he is learning quickly, too quickly, how to survive in this time of trouble. While there are men to guide him in place of his father, I must be there too, as his mother, and I must not grow weak to the point where I cannot care for him.

But I feel the darkness.

I feel the fingers of darkness raking through the strands of my hair, I feel the cold whispers it brings, I feel the empty comfort that it gives me. It tells me nothing that would reassure me, but it tells me that I am alone, that I had murdered the most misunderstood soul in the world and hypocritically raised his son. And it would be a crime to raise him, for he will be just like me, which the world and the gods completely abhor.

I will see him in hell, and I do not even know if he will take me in his arms.

But surely the devil would.

I _am_ going mad; what have I written? I cannot undo this. I cannot rip it out; it is like ripping out a part of my life! I had already written! I am slowly, slowly descending into madness and I am realizing it, and I choose to stuff it down and smother it and hide it! My love for him and his love for me ends like this-

No!

I never stopped loving him!

Had he stopped loving me? As he lay dying, had he changed his mind? Had he changed his mind suddenly, thinking as I walked out of the mansion, thinking: _'Wretched woman! Breaking my heart like that! How can such a woman exist? The worst part is that I still love her!' _

But only the devil and I know that my unhealthy, unorthodox, mad love for him goes on; I will love him no matter how he looks like! No matter how he sounds like! But I had killed him! I, who loved him, killed him, _killed him!_

And the darkness does not help; it does not tell me that I must straighten up and stop pitying myself, and then I realize...

There are no paintings in this room at all.

I have not painted anything; I do not have a brush, nor paint. There is only the window in front of me; I am sitting at my desk, doing nothing but having delusions while writing. His face is not there. I have not painted. There is not a single painting of him, there is not a single image, and I am in my temporary study, dreaming!

_Dreaming!_

The darkness, if he continues to be with me still, if he holds me in his arms still, had only served to terrify me tonight.

_-Gumina Glassred_

* * *

_Right Palace, Marlon Castle, Bariti, Marlon_  
_June 12, EC 147_

"What is this?" the purple-haired boy asked his mother, completely surprised. "My birthday isn't..."

"It _is_ important," Gumina smiled, placing the wrapped present on Reinard's lap. It was still morning, and the little boy was awakened by his mother only a few minutes before. The bed was far too big for his small body, but he managed to create a home for himself in the abundant covers every night, and to feel his mother's soft hands in his made him grin in childish amusement.

"Mama, what is this?" Reinard was too tickled to refer to her with the normal 'mother'.

"Open it," she urged him with a smile of her own.

He opens it carefully; it is his mother's present to him, and his little blue eyes widen at the sight of a small circular music box, large enough to fit into his mother's palm. Reinard knows the tune before he even opens its fragile lid- it is the silly tune that he had tried to compose when he was a boy of six- and his mother had the unnecessary sense to remember how it went. She had joked that she would make it into a form of music somehow, and here it was. But just when he was about to put it away, his mother took the covers off him and lifted him so as to make him stand on the bed before her.

"What else?" Reinard asked inquisitively. "Mama, what else?"

"Well," Gumina said, looking pensive, "you have presents from King Karchess, Queen Yufina and Commander Erhart."

"I doubt that there is a party for my turning ten," Reinard grinned cheekily, then returned to his usual somber mood. "Is there anything from Beelzenia?"

"Oh, my son, can this not be a day where we can just enjoy your birthday?"

"Can it really?" Reinard asked, his face hopeful. "Can it really, mother?"

"You and me, playing outside the castle today?" Gumina dared, her adventurous shades showing.

"With Commander Erhart?"

The sentence utterly crushed her mood. The Prime Minister instantly looked mock hurt, and she looked mock offended. Her nose wrinkled; her head was turned, and she made it as if she didn't want to look at her son anymore. Reinard laughed gleefully at the little cruel joke that he had played on his mother, and he sat back down on the bed.

"Mother..." his fluting voice began-

* * *

\- she leans back into the darkness again, and she once again sees the reproductions, the originals, the shades of purple and she can hear her brushes dropping-

* * *

\- the room spins, but which room? hers? Reinard's? The atelier's-

* * *

"My lady! It is war! War has been declared!" a sharp cry pierced through. Carol Shields ran into the room of the young marquis, only to find the marquis shaking his mother with frantic eyes and an equally shuddering body.

"What happened? What happened to Lady Gumina, Lord Reinard?" Carol gasped, trying to rouse the unconscious woman, who passed out on the bed.

"She just dropped, and she's...!"

* * *

A/N: Happy Labour Day. I think I will properly ask for a day off.

-Nairo


	7. VII

**The Dossier of the Premier**

VII

_Right Palace, Marlon Castle, Bariti, Marlon_  
_June 12, EC 147_

She woke, seeing the faces of Queen Yufina and Carol Shields.

The first thing she remembered was Carol's frantic voice crying out: _'War!_' Gumina squinted her blue eyes at the queen's dark silver ones, and closed them again to properly let the word sink in. War. War had been declared, but by whom? War had started, but where? War had started on her boy's tenth birthday?

"...Who had declared war...?" Gumina's raspy voice croaked. Queen Yufina took her hand and bit her lip, then decided to answer instead of inquiring about her well-being.

"Prince Martius Beelzenia," came the reply.

So he had done it, he had finally declared war. "And where is it...?"

"Lioness, mi'lady," Carol quipped. "They don't care where they have the war now. Their troops are assembled, but ours are not. Commander Erhart is still here, having persuaded the king for more troops. We cannot do with ten thousand."

"Let me go, I must see them," Gumina said at once, arising from the bed, in which Queen Yufina held the Prime Minister's arms rather firmly. Gumina's surprise was written all over her face, but what Yufina said next kept her rooted to the mattress.

"Lady Gumina, my husband...he is giving the young marquis his birthday gift."

* * *

"Sire," Reinard bowed, and Karchess bade him to rise.

Questions, questions, life is full of questions. The curiosity of a young boy and the growing concern for his mother is a dangerous combination, a lethal mixture that, if left unstable, will result in something catastrophic. But Reinard Glassred was a young man in an adult's world; he must not throw tantrums or ask for his mother when she is not there. He must carry the family name no matter how heavy, and he must carry the privileges and the shames.

The King is majestic in Reinard's eyes, yet he too knows that this is the man who had murdered his father, all for the greater good. He does not view his father as a criminal, he does not blame His Majesty for ending his life, and he respects his memory nobly with his child-like heart. His eyes are clear of blame, and Karchess notices it- Gumina had raised him well.

But this boy wasn't of Gumina's making alone.

The boy is bright, the boy sees and hears. The boy chooses what to believe, and he chooses to believe what is good. Karchess believes that this is the right decision; he had discussed this over with Gumina on a few occasions, and Reinard had proved his worth at the tender age of ten.

"Kneel, Marquis Glassred, for I will bestow you an inheritance," Karchess said formally, and Reinard did so.

What followed next was a very, very cruel twist of irony. The blade, the knife of wrath that stabbed the heart of the immoral man, was in the hands of the king, and he bade Reinard to raise his arms to receive it. He is small, much too small to even compare to the height and majesty of Karchess Marlon, ordained king of the island nation, yet as he felt the cool blade come into contact with his little palms, he realized that this was a transfer of responsibility.

"This is the blade that ended your father's life. This is my will. I command you to see for yourself; is this a blade that calls for peace, or war?"

Reinard kept his eyes downcast.

"I will see to it that you will receive an answer when I am grown, Your Grace."

Thus Grim The End found its way to a new owner.

* * *

Beranger Erhart could bargain no more after the king let Reinard return to his mother's side, and Reinard found that his mother found her own way to him. Ten thousand men to Lioness, no more, maybe less. The throne room was the place of farewell for the famed commander of Elphegort's army, and Gumina Glassred knew that they could waste no more time. They must plan while the war goes on; they cannot plan beforehand anymore.

Karchess and Yufina, both king and queen, gave the commander their well wishes, but the blessings of Lord Held must come from the god's most fervent worshiper, the Prime Minister. The premier looked at the commander, head bowed, knee knelt, and she removes her gloves and pass them to her lady, Carol. The young marquis watches his mother, austere and somber, walk over to the kneeling commander, and remembered the bloody feud in where many lives were almost compromised due to his mother's display of cunning to remove this man from the courts.

Gumina placed her hand on Erhart's head, feeling his hair through her slender fingers.

"The blessings of Held shall be upon you, and you will return victorious," she said, imparting her blessings to the gallant knight. "We do not doubt His divine power, and we do not question His will."

"I accept His will as my own," came the knight's answer.

She removed her hand, and he stood up and bowed before the King, the Queen, and the greatest lady that he had ever known. The lady who had the gall to challenge him and trap him, the lady who had the ability to amaze him and make him laugh, smile, cry and experience the world's anger; he received her blessings, and he bowed before the little marquis as well.

"We part now," Gumina said quietly. "Write to us. Tell us. Do not withhold anything from us."

"I will be sure to write back to you," Erhart smiled, and he left the throne room.

Reinard noticed that he addressed his mother, and not the rest, with his final words.

* * *

_To Lord Reinard Glassred,_

_I entrust you with Hermes. This is as much as I can write. If God wills it, and if luck comes to our side, we will meet again as proper brother and sister, and I pray that this war will spare us from all grief and unnecessary despair._

_Happy birthday._

_Lady Milenille Conchita_

* * *

The hawk remains perched on his little arm, and Reinard grits his teeth.

* * *

A/N: Labour day is over. Why can't every day be labour day?

-Nairo


	8. VIII

**The Dossier of the Premier**

_"Asche zu Asche!"  
Am Deck der sinkeden Welt / On the Deck of the Sinking World (Elisabeth)_

VIII

_The Marlon-Beelzenian-Lioness War_  
_circa June-October, EC 147_

**August**

It was an unavoidable war.

In haste, Senator Corbis Nuens of Elphegort arrived in Marlon at the end of July to tell the King of Marlon that the first battle had ended with a stalemate, but Commander Erhart and Prince Martius will have another on the same battleground. From Bariti, Marlon, the King of Marlon and the Prime Minister of Elphegort were not comforted with the news; in fact, they grew more worried. The armies of Prince Martius would know the tricks of war that Lioness would normally employ, but the Marlon Royal Army could only grasp as little as the geography. What was even worse was the fact that Karchess and Gumina found out from a hastily smuggled letter written in Baroness Milenille's little-girl cursives about the fate of Princess Maylis- she had to go in hiding, in sanctuary. Even Emperor Jupitaire's hands were tied, helpless to even assist his favourite daughter.

Queen Yufina doubts herself; had she done wrong in defying the natural protocol that royals should do? The King comforts her; no, she had done nothing wrong. But the King can only comfort her for so long, thus the reassuring comes from the ten year old marquis, who urges his mother and asks her: 'What are you waiting for, mother?' Reinard knows that yes, Commander Erhart may very well dominate the battlefield and be their hero again, but to tie up ends and cut things up are the arts of his beloved mother. She had done it may times, so why not now? Why does she pray and hope like everyone else, when she can turn the tables around?

Because she waits for the time when Prince Martius Beelzenia would show his face on the battlefield.

"It is a battle of pride," Gumina explained. "The war will not end with Marlon's victory, nor Beelzenia's. He wants to see King Karchess humiliated, spat on, dead, and everything else."

"But why won't you turn the courts against their own people like you used to do, mother?" Reinard asked, puzzled at his mother's sudden decision of inactivity.

"Because to kill a man's pride is to mock him in his face to get him to stop dreaming."

Gumina, as much as she dislikes prolonging things, knows that neither Karchess nor Martius will give up. The legitimate Marlon will stay as long as Karchess is alive. As long as Karchess is alive, Martius will want his blood. The battle that serves to be a public display of an immature prince marching out to get the toys that he cannot have will ensure many lives lost, and Gumina makes sure that the country of Marlon will act as the disciplining parent.

So she waits.

* * *

_To Lady Gumina Glassred, _

_This may either delight you or dampen your mood- however your thoughts may direct themselves to- but the rebels and the armies of Lioness and Prince Martius's are confused. They attack half-heartedly; they retreat the same way. They think differently; they think of me as a master of the seas, apparently, being a commander here in Marlon and Lioness has some connection to the sea. I should have been addressed with the title of General. I know nothing about what happens in court, but I can certainly trust that you can be the witch in this time of confusion. I only hope that your spells will be to our advantage, but if you are as lost as we are, then I have no one to look to. There, I've said it._

_Maybe they want King Karchess to ride out? There is no motivation for either armies- I am a foreign general among thousands of Marlonese men. But if you can weave an intricate plot that will trap that childish prince once and for all, I will have to commend your noble cunning and drink until I am drunk for you. The entire battle seems causeless, but maybe you will see more than any of us combined. Maybe you will make us win._

_I still remember your words of parting blessings; they remain with me still. I still laugh at the thought that the hand that condemned me with treason against our King was the same hand that blessed me with Lord Held's divine protection._

_I remain in service to the King,_  
_Beranger Erhart_

* * *

**September**

The Marlons are opportunistic people, and Gumina follows their ways.

She writes back to Erhart, telling him to fight further away and- she underlines this part- _lose no more men_. Ten thousand men against one hundred thousand is an impossible task; she knows it, and she reassures him that she will get King Karchess to send more to the battlefield. But a new problem arose; propaganda. Martius had urged the Lioness citizens; what is the use of a legitimate Marlon, if Marlon is the scum of the earth? and King Karchess takes it in stride, relying on his head and the help offered to him.

For a moment, Gumina even thought of asking Erhart to recruit pirates. She did.

For the first time, Reinard sees his mother plan like a militant, and the words that come out of her mouth are far from peaceful. He sees a new side of his mother; her reckons (maybe correctly) that if his father were still alive, he would have been terrified of this woman. Karchess and Gumina seem all too set on crushing the rebellious Beelzenian prince, and when they sent out more men, Gumina sends instructions along with them. They have no choice. They must lure the armies to the sea, and when they are at sea, Erhart must tell them so that they will go.

Senator Corbis Nuens reassures Reinard; his mother is a great lady with the soundest of judgements. The jokey Earl of Nuens is left in charge with the Prime Minister's greatest treasure, and Carol Shields asks her lady: can she possibly assist in the war? and Gumina shrugged.

"Well, it's to be over soon. I don't see why not," came the premier's reply.

Queen Yufina blesses her husband, the King, and arms him with her love and hopes. He remains staunchly under her service,and she took his hands in hers as he trusts her with the castle, and she, him, with the crowning victory.

"Come back to me, safe and sound," she said, reluctant to let him go.

"I will," he promised, as all good husbands do.

When the go-ahead was sent, they then left to the seas.

* * *

**_October 16, EC 147_**  
_Night_

"Sire! We've arrived!" Reinard's voice came, prompting an unkempt sailor to look from the ledge of the galleon and question the addresser.

"Who's there?" he asked, with this thick Marlonese drawl.

"The Marquis Glassred!" Reinard answered back. "I have your King and my mother, the Prime Minister of Elphegort, as well as the Earl of Nuens and my mother's lady!"

In no time at all, the sailors hoisted the entourage up to the galleon, and the first thing Karchess does is smile. Every Marlon man is at home on a ship, with the sea around them and the wooden planks beneath their boots. The sailors and soldiers bowed to their King, and he nodded with satisfaction; they are in the right place. Gumina herself bit her lip and looked out to the sea rather than at the men, as if she was a trained navigator, and Beranger Erhart bowed before Karchess, ready to supply him with news.

"We have, at our disposal, seven thousand soldiers, four thousand sailors and one thousand pirates."

"Pirates!" Karchess exclaimed in shock. "Where did you get them from?"

"Lady Glassred thought it advisable that we have men who are more proactive in the seas," Erhart laughed. Gumina turned around and laughed along- it was quite the joke. At once, the general who had once actively spat to the ground upon hearing her name went up to her and kissed her hand- an act of courtly respect.

"You've helped so much," he smiled. "Now we wait."

Gumina nodded. "We wait, and we see if Martius dares show his face."

Reinard broke free from Carol's arms, rushing near the shrouds as he strove to see things with a bird's eye view. Milenille's hawk, Hermes, was perched on the young boy's shoulder, greatly giving him quite the pressure, but as he saw and smelled the scent of the seas, he realized that this was it. This was war, and he was facing it. His mother will rain the fires of hell upon Martius Beelzenia's men and the Lioness rebels, and he would be watching it.

Of course, he was afraid.

He never once thought that while others can have the capacity to be cruel in the blink of an eye, his mother can too. His mother, who told him bedtime stories, who played word games with him, who sings nonsensical songs of love and nursery rhymes, will, with her same mouth, give the order and one hundred thousand men will burn, if they do not surrender. Reinard sees his mother, a simple woman, small in frame and fragile, armed with nothing but her bare hands, unflinching at the prospect of losing.

Did his father notice this in her, and loved her all the same?

In this time of trial, Reinard was too busy thinking of everyone's own safety, as most would do, and he doesn't know that at this moment, his half-sister, Milenille, was praying for victory with her tiny hands clasped together. While Reinard was on a galleon, Milenille resigned herself to doing the part of a helpless lady in sanctuary. A girl of only ten, praying for the best in a damp abbey as she feared that sanctuary would be broken at any moment. The Lioness Royal Family wanted to see the destruction of Marlon, Martius Beelzenia wanted to see the demise of Karchess Crim, and everything was beyond everyone's control.

"How many demi-culverins?" Erhart asked a pirate, to which the rough-natured man answered: "Forty each. We have an armada."

"And so do they," Gumina whispered to herself.

"Your Grace!" the Admiral Otinhar called out, to which Karchess turned around and saw his most trusted Admiral point forward. "They have come!"

One galleon was seen, then a few more followed painfully slowly. Gumina bit her lip; like any weak-willed woman, she would experience the shock of the reality of war grip her heart, but she forced it down. Yet, it was hard to force down fear, and she looked behind to see her son speak to the Admiral. He was so small compared to the Admiral's towering height, but she tore away from the sight and asked Karchess one thing.

"What do you wish to say to Martius Beelzenia, Your Grace?" she asked.

Karchess shook his head. "You say something. It is either peace, or war."

"Under your name," she said.

"My name, yes."

"Then I will dictate our terms," she nodded.

* * *

Hermes flew with the message, which clearly dictated as such:

_'I ask of you, Prince Martius, surrender, for your pride is folly. Otherwise, I will have to enact a regrettable fate upon you, the people of Lioness and your army, and your family and theirs will be exceedingly grieved. Peace is very much desirable in my part, and let us not have any more conflicts in the future.'_

Martius Beelzenia threw the note down, sent the hawk back, and clenched his fists.

* * *

_'Surrendering is out of the question. You speak as if you are certain that you will win! I will take back what is mine, and you will perish in the waters, never to return. The tide of Marlon will go against you tonight!'_

To their horror, one of the galleons were struck with the first blow.

* * *

"Load the cannons!" Karchess frantically commanded, and Gumina grabbed hold of a sailor's arm, pointing towards the advancing enemy armada. The seas roared, the waters splashed violently, and they were surrounded with nothing but loaded galleons filled with artillery, oil and fire.

"Tell your admiral this; there is oil, the canons and fire. He must have them ready now, and do not worry about the supply. Aim for the main galleon; the one that bears the Prince of Beelzenia's royal court of arms. Don't worry about having no light- we can see each other just fine in this darkness!"

He ran, all gangly-legged, and she ran to get her son. Reinard held onto his mother for dear life and as quickly as she ordered, quickly the Admiral set her plan to motion. Erhart went to the green-haired woman and took her hand, knowing that there is a chance that she and her son could fall overboard.

"We must go to the captain's cabin!" Erhart shouted.

"Take Reinard!" she yelled back. "I must oversee this!"

"I know your plan by heart; you mustn't callously put your life on the line here!" Erhart insisted. "Go, I will oversee this!"

"_Beranger!_" Gumina agonizingly protested. "If I am not out here, we will die!"

He looked at her strained face; she should not be here in this hellish war, she should not even have come. But he trusted her judgement, he trusted her to deliver the best of herself, yet he completely forgot about her safety. He was now not only responsible for the welfare of many men, but this woman's as well, and her son's. Reinard clung to his mother, not daring to even make a sound, but at the comforting hold of the war general, he looked up and saw that the champion of Elphegort had made a very difficult decision.

"...I will keep him safe," Erhart conceded. "Gumina-"

"Go," she said, pushing him to the opposite direction as she went to search for the Admiral in the shaking galleon.

* * *

"My lady! They are ready! The armada is ready!" Admiral Otinhar yelled amongst the pandemonium, in which Gumina forced herself to stand firm on the shaking floor, take a deep breath and hold the wooden support of the mast. The mast felt rough in her soft hands, and she closed her eyes, forcing herself, telling herself, that this is war. This must be done.

This must be done.

"...Make the seas of water become seas of fire," Gumina said. "Rain the wrath of hell on our enemies."

He waited, and she opened her eyes.

"Burn them all."

* * *

The sky rained fire that night.

Many men would rather drown than burn, so they jumped off their vassals. The seas, however, were already tinged with fire, and the canons were flying flameballs that never ceased to stop. The flames licked away at the galleons of Beelzenia and Lioness, and many men abandoned the prince who once thought that he was at the winning side. He saw that the skies were hurling fires at him, at his army, and he was powerless to run.

The atrocities were horrific. If this was the wrath of God, then God is a god of war. From the windows of the captain's deck, Reinard saw that the sky was light with fire, and his little heart almost stopped at the realization that yes, this is what his mother had intended for their enemies.

Martius, like a common coward, like the fat coward he was, jumped. He drowned like the rest of his unfortunate crew, but his body was singed before it could be bloated with the salty waters, and the water spirits took his soul along with the rest. At the same time, the Marlon fleet sailed as fast as they could away from the place; they had planned this in advance, but even Karchess was shaken at the sight of so many men dying like the sick in the plague.

But he knew that this was necessary. It had to be done. They had given them a chance, and they did not take it.

"We have won," Admiral Otinhar breathed, but Gumina did not rejoice.

"...We have won," she repeated blankly, but once again, she realized what she was. She lived up to her name after all.

She was nothing but a murderer.

* * *

When Hermes flew back to the abbey, Milenille looked at Toy Conchita with tears in her eyes, and she whispered, "It is over."

* * *

A/N: This was very long to write. Painful too.

-Nairo


End file.
